Turn
by Cascade Waters
Summary: A few months, a few millennia, and a boy drifting in shadows. A/N: This is the lighter of two versions of a section of a larger story arc. WARNING: Contains non-sexual spanking of a minor.


Turn – for Kaylee – Joyous Yule!

By sparx

Rated PG13

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Warning: A load of angst, a bit of sting, a lot of schmoop, it's a crazy thing. Contains non-sexual spanking of a teenager.

A/N: This is an AU of one of my own AUs, which started with "Amonaly." It is a crossover with Primeval, though I've gone off on my own tangent after the third season.

Kaylee, I know this isn't exactly what you had in mind, but I hope that it's passable.

****Many, many thanks to Susana, who was a great help and encouragement during the writing of this and all of my fics!****

Connor wasn't sure of a lot, but he was certain that he was done with this 'therapy' tripe. Oh, they called it something fancy, something he couldn't even get his tongue around, but it was therapy all the same. And not just pt for the stupid leg, either—while they worked on bending and twisting and massaging the worthless thing, making him try to kick and to press against things (none of which worked, of course,) they also tried to get him to talk about his feelings. It was like being stuck in hospital where all the departments hit you up at once. Oh, he liked Elrond all right, but he hadn't asked for anyone to go walking 'round in his head. He didn't really need for them to know what went on up there. Precious little, wasn't it, and not conducive to his not being tied to the bed, though he really didn't understand why they'd bother.

Still, though, all in all, the people… Elves… were nice, and so was their home. The food was odd but tasty, if a bit heavy on the veg for his liking. The water tasted clean, like the water from some of the prehistoric jaunts he'd taken, but sweeter and somehow more satisfying; and the clever buggers did have plumbing, even tapping hot springs so that they could bathe comfortably. The clothes they'd kept producing for him were clean and soft, and while the Elves seemed to still prefer some sort of leggings (meggings, really, as he'd not seen as many females as males, thank God for small mercies,) his hosts had come up with a sort of loose knit wide-leg trouser to go under the plain tunics, which was great for both his leg and what remained of his dignity. Some of the Elves were obviously curious about him, stopping in to casually ask weird questions about everything from his ruined modern clothing to his hair to his social class. He'd even got a couple of visits from an incredibly busy Thrani… Thranduil… the big blond king bloke who claimed that he sort of remembered a private conversation between a very small him and a mostly intact Connor. A few months had passed for the paleoarchaeologist, a few millennia for the little boy with the big eyes and stuffed rabbit.

Too weird.

But Thranduil did seem glad to see him, as did Elrond, who said that he was the same Elrond from that day in Glendalough, though he had been grumbling yesterday about sons who would obey every other Elf down to their own baby sister but didn't seem fussed about obeying their adar. Elrond hadn't seemed to realize that he was doing so aloud until he'd caught Connor's eye, and then, with the young human's bad foot against his shoulder for some more fun exercises in nonexistent muscle strength, he'd asked Connor to weigh in with an opinion on the thought processes of young adult males who didn't listen to their fathers. Connor hadn't meant to answer, hadn't cared enough, but Elrond's gentle persistence had finally won him a small snort and a "you're just too nice to be properly scary." To the young man's surprise, Elrond had chuckled and thanked him.

The visiting Elven lord and healer hadn't been grateful enough to let Connor out of the rest of the therapy session, though, even declaring that he had 'some interesting new ideas' to try out during the next one. Well, Connor had no use for interesting new ideas of that sort or any other, and the only thing for it was to just not be accessible. So the following afternoon, for the first time since he'd blacked out on the way through an anomaly that he'd hoped would finish him and woken in a bed in a softly lit cavern, Connor Temple grabbed the single light-weight carved crutch next to his bed and went solo walkabout… or, well, hobbleabout, falling a couple of times and using the wall in place of his usual Elven helper. It would be just capital to have a matching crutch (or a Segway) but he didn't seem to rate that, so he made do.

And after a few winding hallways, two face-plants that took forever to get up from, and a load of strange looks from Elves he (thankfully) hadn't met and who therefore wouldn't know who he was, Connor decided that he needed a break from making do when he reached the open door of what looked like a small office. He (pretty much literally) dragged himself to a padded chair and flopped down, breathing through his teeth and blinking back tears. All of him was weak and out-of-shape, but the stupid useless leg hadn't even done any of the work, and it was killing him. He told himself that he just needed a minute, just sixty seconds, to rest, and then he'd be off again to find… he didn't know… a way out of this place, maybe.

Sometime later (he was going to claim sixty seconds) Connor heard a rustle. "Why do they always insist on placing things in spots I can't reach, or get to without breaking some blasted oath? It's not like I'm likely to cause trouble fetching what I've been asked to fetch. Okay, so maybe that one time, but that wasn't entirely my fault, and neither will it be when Sarlineth finds out that I couldn't fetch her blighted decorations! I mean, I was *told* to do this! But that won't stop her giving me the sharp side of her tongue, at least, now will it? Does your family do things like this to you?"

Despite being startled at first by the sound of the voice, Connor was rather amused at this little rant, and it took his weary brain a moment to realize that the last had been an actual question. He opened his eyes, took a breath, and carefully raised his head from its flopped position, looking around the room until he spotted a tall, willowy blond Elf gazing patiently at him. Connor raised a hand and gave a little wave, which the Elf returned with a small grin. "So… do they?"

Connor had to think for a few seconds before he realized what the other was asking, and then he didn't know how to answer. He guppied for a moment before finally saying, "Wouldn't know. I've no family. Sorry, though, about yours; that's mad wrong."

The Elf looked a bit nonplussed at that, but after a few blinks, he murmured a thanks for the commiseration, then glanced around the cozy little room. He was obviously chewing on a problem, so Connor asked what it was, and the Elf indicated some wooden boxes on a high shelf… and the marked lack of any sort of ladder. Connor asked why the Elf didn't just climb the sturdy-looking shelves themselves, and got a blush from the other. "Oh, I, er… I sort of promised that I wouldn't do that. Again. Or toss up anything to upset a box. Or repurpose an object to access something intentionally placed out of my reach. Or try to remove sections in order to shorten something." It was Connor's turn to blink, and the Elf laughed self-consciously. "Long story. Though not long enough to properly distract my adar, at any of those times." He took a couple of fluid steps toward Connor. "Legolas. And you are?"

"Oh, sorry. Connor."

"Mae govannen, Connor. I'm sorry that you have to experience our pre-holiday madness. Does… wherever you're from… go mad this time of year?"

Connor shrugged. "What time of year is it?"

Legolas raised his eyebrows. "Yuletide." At Connor's blank look, the Elf added slowly, "It is the celebration of the changing of the seasons, the turning of the world toward renewal and light. Surely your people must have some form of Yuletide, to mark the change?"

Connor thought about it for a moment. "Yule. Is that the winter whotsit? The solstice? Sorry, I can never remember solstice from equinox."

Legolas nodded, worried now what this young man might have been through, that he either had no memory of holidays or had never known about them. Grumbling aside, this was Legolas' favorite time of year. "Solstice, yes; and you are doing fine, my friend. Yule is quite special here; we appreciate how the seasons and the elements work together to give the world rest and to foster new life, each in its time. Everything around us is a part of the great song, and we give thanks for blessings and welcome the coming of new harmonies. We decorate with greenery to pay homage to life, and with candles to remind us to look forward to the light and warmth of the sun. We also have blue and silver touches to honor the moon for guiding us through the world's night with his light. We welcome family and friends to our tables for feasts, and to our gardens for ceremonies, and to our hearths for music and stories. Children spend the month before Yule learning new skills so that they can contribute to the celebrations, and everyone looks forward to seeing what they've chosen to do." He grimaced a bit. "We also generally have new clothing made for the festivities. Sometimes I wonder if the degree of discomfort of formal wear correlates to one's reputation over the past months. My clothes seem to get more itchy with each Yule."

Connor gave him a sympathetic look. "That bites, mate, about the clothes. Your Yule sounds a bit like our Christmas—lots of decorations, food, carols, kid stuff. And sometimes we have to dress up, but mostly, Christmas is the only time it's really acceptable to wear silly pajamas. I mean, Christmas isn't really about the weather, but it's the best comparison I've got." Connor thought for another moment. "I think that some people might still do the Yule thing, though. I'd almost forgotten—when I was a kid, I had this friend just moved from Denmark, and he told me this funny little legend, I think, about Yule."

"Oh?" Legolas might not understand the reference to Denmark, but he seemed genuinely interested, so Connor plumbed his memory.

"Yep. Um, let's see… sorry, I was like six at the time, so I might be getting this all wrong… there was this, I don't know, I guess it was an elf, or maybe a dwarf; he would, like, visit people's houses and farms and stuff, and he would…" Connor bit his lip, organizing the memory into some sensible order, "he would do stuff, like chores, sometimes, if he was very happy with the owners, but if they got one little thing wrong—like, say they left him the wrong kind of biscuit or something—he'd prank them, leave them some sort of mess to clean up when they were meant to be partying or whatever. I think they called him a Nessie… no, a Nisse."

Legolas stood there, blinking, with an odd look on his face, and it took Connor calling his name to bring him back to the conversation. "That is… interesting. It sounds a bit like Lord Elrond's twin sons. Pray tell, how can one not be sure if a creature is Elf or Dwarf?"

"Uh, well," Connor replied, "it's really not that surprising. See, in my world, elves and dwarves are about the same size; they get mistaken for each other all the time in stories. In some of the mo—er, playacts I've seen, elves are played by dwarves." He noticed that Legolas looked incredulous (if the Elf had been drinking, he'd have spewed just then,) and he hurried to add, "No offense, mate." He found himself explaining then about Santa Claus and his elves, and his new friend's expressions brought him closer to laughing than he'd been in, well, months.

Legolas obviously needed a couple of minutes to recover before he could respond, and Connor could deal with that; the young man was still weak and worn out from the trek to this room. When the Elf finally did speak, he did so with (much to Connor's relief) a touch of laughter in his voice. "Connor, my strange young friend, I hereby formally request that you retell those stories by the Yule fire. I can guarantee that you will grab the attention of everyone there." He must have really liked that idea, because he grinned to himself and then shook his head and asked the last question Connor was expecting: "What are 'silly pajamas?'"

Connor blinked in surprise, and tried to think of a way to explain something he'd thought that everyone would know. "Um… well… they're… they're just pajamas, but usually really bright, and printed, sort of. If you're lucky."

Legolas considered this for a moment. "Oh. But what are pajamas?"

Connor's eyes widened and he gave a brief snort, not at his new friend but in surprise. "Uh… clothes you're meant to sleep in?"

"Ah. Nightshirts."

Connor kept his eyes on the Elf while he turned his head away a bit, raising his eyebrows and saying slowly, "Okay, then, if you like. Not—not that there's anything—well—" Connor was digging himself a hole he wasn't sure how to fill; fortunately for him, Legolas didn't seem to notice.

"What else does one wear for sleeping?" Legolas seemed a bit flummoxed and endearingly curious, so the young human ended up explaining the structure of typical pajamas, and then went on to describe some of the silly holiday pajamas he'd seen, right down to zany prints, footies, and even trap doors (none of which he'd ever had himself, but which had always mortified his schoolmates. Connor would never admit it, but he'd always been just a touch envious of families that could tease like that; his mum had usually just grabbed something from the checkout at the pound shop for his gift, so the closest he'd ever got to silly pajamas had been a pair of chartreuse shoelaces.) By the end of the explanation, Legolas was red in the face and teary-eyed from laughing at the concepts of images of 'dwarven' elves on one's sleepwear, stockings that became trousers and, especially, suspiciously 'convenient' flaps that could be opened to expose one's bum.

It had been a long time since the young man had cared to have a conversation, or cared at all, but he did now. Connor wasn't sure what that meant, but he didn't have long to think about it before a distant female voice made Legolas cringe. "You wouldn't happen to have any suggestions, would you?" He gestured across his torso to indicate the situation behind him, with the unreachable box. Connor doubted that he could help, but he eyeballed the shelves anyway, and to his surprise, he found himself contemplating his crutch. After a pause, he struggled to lever himself up out of the chair, and quickly found Legolas easily aiding him with just one hand. Connor nodded his thanks, too out-of-breath to speak, and worked on getting his balance before stumping painfully to the shelves under the box. He grasped the edge of a shelf that was about level with his upper lip because that spot offered the best space for the fingers of his left hand, and then, his right arm trembling with exertion, he raised the crutch as high as he could manage. He knew instantly that it wasn't enough, that he needed to be higher, and he hadn't promised anything to anyone, so he took a short hop onto the lowest shelf with his good foot, ignoring the Elf's apprehensive comments that this wasn't a good idea and that Connor didn't need to do this. He clenched his teeth and his fingers, raised the crutch again, and used the last of his strength to make another hop. It worked—his crutch bumped the bottom of the wooden box and unbalanced it enough to bring it down. The downside was that he hit the front of the shelving unit and lost his grip, his good leg crumpling when his weight fell onto it and his bad leg screaming after the scraping bang against the hard wood. He fell down and back…

…and never hit the floor.

Legolas had caught him with one arm and the tumbling box with the other. The young Elf anxiously asked if he was hurt, encouraging him to be still. When Connor remembered how to breathe again, he thought briefly that he hoped that the contents of the box were unharmed… and then he lost his breath again when he felt himself lifted into the air. Legolas' expression didn't bode well for the young man; when Connor turned his head to see his captor, he found himself staring into grey eyes. Very displeased grey eyes.

"Legolas," Elrond said in a quiet, measured tone, "please go and help Mersedhiel replenish the kindling on the west side of the healing cavern. And do close the door on your way out." Legolas started to appeal, but Elrond stopped him just by raising a staying hand, all while maintaining eye contact with Connor, whom he still cradled in his arms. The younger Elf must have had some idea of the situation because he shut his mouth and hurried from the study, closing the door and leaving Connor totally at the mercy of an unhappy elven lord.

"Well. It would seem that we have a situation here." Elrond, his voice still quiet, fluidly crossed to the chair Connor had vacated. He sat down on the chair with Connor cradled, deftly and gently flipped the boy face-down, laid him over the Elf lord's lap, raised the tunic, and rested his hand on Connor's trousered backside. Elrond believed in meting out discipline in sensible proportions, and with plenty of explanation. In this case, though, he had on his hands (and over his knee) a weak, sick child who was fully aware of his transgressions, if perhaps a shade less than clear on their seriousness. That being the case, the Elf lord chose a more concise course—he secured Connor firmly but gently with his left arm, and raised his right hand, letting it fall with only moderately light force. As he swatted, he spoke, one smack for each word, going slowly enough for both his words and the mild sting to be crisp and clear.

"You are safe. You are precious. You are not alone. Things will get better. Trust us to care for you. It will make your stay much more comfortable."

Connor, for his part, wasn't sure what to make of anything just then. It had been a bit since he'd been in this position, and never with anyone other than Cutter. Cutter's swats had been harder and faster and more numerous, but this spanking still hurt, though Elrond's words were making more of an impression, for reasons Connor couldn't quite fathom. He wasn't overwhelmed (just a little breathless) from the sting, really, but he found himself in tears all the same.

What Connor didn't notice, but Elrond did, was that in his body's feeble natural struggles to get away from the pain, his bad leg kicked nearly as much as the good one. The elven healer decided that he would have to remember that for future rehabilitation sessions. Evidently, being facedown was good for some parts of the human boy.

As soon as Elrond finished his speech, he stopped smacking and handily flipped the boy, settling him in his lap and cuddling him warm and close. While Connor cried out some of the shadows in his heart, Elrond rocked him and rubbed circles high on his back and murmured reassurances, some in languages that Connor had never heard, but somehow his heart understood. He might be embarrassed later, but right then, all the young man could manage to do was to curl up as small and as close as possible into the warmth and comfort of the embrace, and the great Lord Elrond didn't seem to mind. In fact, Connor was pretty sure he heard Elrond commiserate with him about how they had both had to let go of their loves, which might explain the second exhausted bout of tears.

Connor didn't remember being moved from the study to the healing cavern or being tucked into bed (on his side, no less.) He had an impression of being made to drink some sort of bitter tea, and then a very vague impression of someone undressing him and wrapping his bad leg. When he woke, the fires were blazing merrily in the hearths, and a dinner tray lay on the bedside table. Connor sat up to eat… and shifted, pulling in a breath that was half hiss. He wasn't precisely sore, as Cutter had left him each time, but he certainly knew that he'd been sp—sp—taken to task. Connor's face turned as hot as his bum felt at the thought that someone else might know about it, too, and he glanced around warily, but no one was paying him any overt attention or seemed to have noticed his discomfort, and he was grateful for that. He settled down and tucked in to his dinner, and he was just finishing when Elrond appeared. Connor was shy, but he needn't have worried—the Elf lord was his usual kind, compassionate self, if still unwilling to ease up on the therapy. The boy was, however, pretty sure that he would never again make the mistake of assuming that Elrond could not make an impression.

Legolas stopped by to check on him that night, apologizing profusely for the whole situation with the box. Connor made space for him to perch on the side of the bed, but Legolas didn't seem keen on the idea, and was called away shortly thereafter—something about finding suitable places for axes.

Two days later, Elrond broke pattern and came in the morning, not giving any clue as to why. That evening, after an uncommonly early dinner, the master healer returned and wordlessly got Connor bathed and dressed in new clothes—a button-down dark blue velvet shirt sewn to the waistband of dark gray velvet trousers… with attached gray wool socks… and a buttoned trap door. Then the Elf scooped up Connor like a small child (again,) ignoring his questions and his reminders that he did know how to walk, and carried him through a dizzying assortment of corridors. In fact, Elrond carried the boy outside, toward what turned out to be a gathering of some sort; he was headed for a nearby armless chair when a voice called out to him, and Elrond changed directions, taking the chair with him.

Connor shivered, and in short order he found himself being wrapped in an already-warmed heavy cloak of dark green with lighter green and gold leaves embroidered around the edges. Elrond set the chair at a specific spot and put Connor down on it, and then found a place for himself nearby, eschewing the two empty chairs right next to the boy. Connor huddled down in the cloak, grateful for its warmth and weight, and for the way it helped him feel just a bit protected from more than just the snow and wind.

A not-entirely-Elven group of people gathered around a ring of very small trees, and a couple of people passed out candles. Connor couldn't get his arm free in time to reach for one when his turn came, so the female Elf smiled at him and placed his candle on a flat rock next to his chair. He didn't have long to wonder about what was going on before the group abruptly settled down; Connor jumped when he heard a strong voice behind him, calling everyone to order, and the young man craned his head up and back to see Thranduil, in dark green like the cloak, looking positively… regal. Thranduil said that he and his son welcomed their friends to the first night of their celebration of light, and Legolas stepped up beside the king. Connor's eyebrows shot up and his jaw dropped, and he suddenly wasn't sure if he felt very young or very old.

Thranduil lit his own candle with a match, and then lit both his son's and Connor's candles, before signaling for Legolas to light the next one and start a chain so that everyone would end up with a flame. He went on to explain that the realm had recently been freed from some great shadow that had plagued them for lifetimes of men, and so they would mark the beginning of the Yule celebrations by decorating the tiny trees with bits of mirrored metal, to catch and share light, so to remind everyone that even when things seemed dark now, the people were blessed with more light than they sometimes knew they had. After Thranduil explained this, Elves and humans (and even a few of what Connor surmised were visiting Dwarves) stepped forward to hang irregularly-shaped bits of different metals—gold, silver, copper, and a couple that Connor couldn't readily identify—that had been polished to a mirror shine. Each contributor said a name, and even the quietest names hung against a respectful silence. Thranduil said that the mirrors were given in memory of those lost, and as he said this, his fingers brushed Connor's shoulder, and the king himself moved forward to add three pieces, and though Connor couldn't make out one of the names, he heard "Abby" and "Professor Cutter" clearly.

He didn't really have time for tears, though, before he realized what everyone else seemed to see at the same time, judging by the gasps—a single ring of candle flames hadn't done much to light the space, but the mirrors were now reflecting the light from the candles, the crescent moon, and the stars visible between the high clouds, so now the area lay bathed in a soft, flickering haze of light. Connor could just imagine how it would look in sunlight.

Someone on the far side began to sing, in a layered language that Connor had never heard, and others picked up the song. Thranduil and Legolas sat down, and Connor found himself enfolded by one of the king's arms, snugged up against his old friend's side in a warm and familial gesture. Connor glanced around to reassure himself that no one was laughing at him, and then looked over at Legolas, who caught his gaze and shot him a smile even as he shifted in his seat. Connor raised his good leg and shook up the cloak's hem enough to show where his trousers joined his socks, and he gave the young Elf a narrow-eyed glower, which got him a laugh. Thranduil rolled his eyes and muttered that he didn't want to know what was going on. Then one of the Dwarves started a song of thanksgiving, low and deep and minor, and Legolas joined in with a clear tenor.

"How are you?" Thranduil asked Connor on a murmur.

"M'all right," Connor responded muzzily. "It's nice here. And, uh, thanks."

Thranduil nodded. "I remember them, and I miss them. And I remember you, and have missed you," he said with a gentle squeeze. "I thank the Valar for bringing you back to me, Connor. I was once in a strange, frightening world, and you comforted me, even despite your own anxiety. So now we do the same for you. You are safe here, my friend. "

The boy blushed and nestled closer to his friend's side, not caring now what anyone else might think. He was spared too much deep thought, though, as someone started up some sort of holiday drinking song with an easy part in the chorus, and soon most of those gathered were attempting to sing along with the rousing number; one of the Dwarves popped across the circle and grabbed Legolas to dance in obedience to the lyrics, and for the first time in months, Connor Temple chuckled.

Elrond's eyes met Thranduil's, and the two Elves shared an approving nod. They had both looked into the boy's eyes, and they agreed—the world was not the only thing that was starting to turn back toward light and hope.


End file.
